A Tale From Salem Village
by D.E. Alexander
Summary: You were told a tale of Salem Village in school, but was it the true story?


A Tale From Salem Village

I was born in 1049 A.D., a time of shifting alliances and changing religious views; but these are unimportant. My name is Octus and I, according to some, am a Seer. My teacher was Merlin the Sorcerer whom I met in 1068 A.D. He was a wise man who disappeared in 1213 A.D. Before his disappearance, Merlin taught me the secrets of immortality, which included the true art of meditation. It is not a strenuous activity and, when done correctly, can extend life.

There are many secrets that surround my life, few of which pertain to my story. One, however, is most important. Witchcraft exists. It is not the witchcraft of the Christian stories. These are mere tales told to frighten the masses. True witchcraft involves the calling of spirits to do your bidding.

During my sixth century on this earth, I found myself in Salem, Massachusetts. My visit was made in the late 17th century when there was much hysteria in the village. It has been over three centuries since my visit, and some of my facts may not be correct. Do not begrudge me my errors, for I am a single man, and an old one at that.

My story began on the road to Salem. I was traveling from Beverly, Massachusetts, with the Reverend Hale. Since the disappearance of my teacher, I have traveled the world, causing upheavals in power and the destruction of tyranny. Once again, I found myself rousing the suspicions of a people against an oppressive government. I had come to Beverly in order to set the stage of unrest and change for the next hundred years. Here I had met John Hale, a minister of the puritan church. He was a fine, just man who understood the way common minds think.

I asked Hale what an old man could do for a minister. He received me gratefully and put me to work cleaning the church. On Sundays, I would listen to him preach. Many of his sermons spoke of God's gifts to the world or of the fiery Hell that awaited sinners.

Then Hale found a woman worshipping the dark forces. He went to her residence and helped her to return to the worship of the Christian God. After that, he was praised as a witch hunter and called to numerous towns to find witchcraft. He would bring me along and I would try to be as mysterious as possible, but even the god-fearing will take a single word and twist it into thousands.

It was at this point that we were called into Salem. We had numerous reports in our possession but none suggested the dark forces were involved. Erring to the side of caution, Hale decided a visit to the village was necessary. I went with him, secure in my knowledge that witchcraft was not involved.

When we reached Salem, we were greeted by the Reverend Samuel Parris. I spoke with him briefly and discovered much.

"There have been countless sightings of witchcraft, Sir. I don't know what to do. There are reports of naked girls dancing in the woods, girls flying over barns, and women sending their spirits to lie on men. I do no-" I raised my hand to stop his speaking further.

"So far," I said, my voice almost a whisper, "there is no evidence of witchcraft, none at all. There will be a simple answer to this problem if you will accept our judgment no matter what we may say." The man nodded.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I investigated the claims of the townspeople. Reverend Hale was doing his own work, declaring numerous people witches.

There is one couple that stands out in my mind very clearly. I believe their names were Thomas and Ann Putnam. Thomas was a man in his mid to late forties and extremely angry with the world. This was due partly to the fact that all of his claims to his family's monies had been cut from his father's will and given to a stepbrother. I also vaguely recall an unpleasant affair with regard to a brother-in-law, but the details are sketchy and I shall not bore you with them. His wife Ann was a bitter, resentful woman. She had lost seven children shortly after birth and was convinced there was some magic involved. I tried to tell her this was untrue, but she would not listen.

"Get out of my home!" she yelled at me. "If you cannot see that this is witchcraft, you have no place in my home!" I decided I would never again speak to the Putnams.

There is one other person who remains clear in my mind. Her name was Abigail Williams, the niece of Reverend Parris. I recognized instantly that she worshipped the Lord of Darkness. I did all I could to dispel the view of her as Saint Abigail. Everyday she would name a "witch", and everyday, without fail, when that person was brought into her presence, she would fall to the ground in a fit.

I spoke with many of the victims in public. I spoke not with authority, but with the ignorance of a good friend trying to make conversation. There, in public, they would deny being witches, but this drove the villagers crazy. In their minds, anyone who denied being a witch obviously was one.

After I had failed to produce the results I expected, I publicly denounced Abigail as a fraud. The girl went insane and began to scream, "No! No! NO! Let me be!" When she stopped, she declared that I had sent my spirit to attack her.

It was then that I showed the villagers true witchcraft.

"Spirits of the winds and rain, I command thee Storm!" Around me, the wind picked up and rain began falling in sheets. The villagers were shocked.

"Now ye spirits douse the lies of Satan and destroy the nonsense of this village. Bring your mighty wrath upon all those who would declare innocents evil. Show us, spirits, the true worshippers of the Dark Lord!" Lightning flashed, and three people were pulled upward out of the crowd. I smiled knowing the villagers would be surprised beyond reckoning.

"Look, all of you. These are the people who started this hysteria. Thomas and Ann Putnam and Abigail, your _Saint_ Abigail. These are the people who worship Lucifer and cavort with his demons."

The people fell into the mud. Abigail was the first to stand.

"Whom would you believe?" she asked. "Me, whom hath saved thee from witches or a witch himself!"

"Silence! I have dealt with that, girl. They are no longer deceived by your lies. Now leave this place, whore, and never return!" Abigail defiantly stood where she was, still proud but slightly diminished.

"Damn you, old man, damn you! You shall pay for this!"

"LEAVE!" I roared. The girl squeaked and ran out of the village as fast as she could.

"We do not worship Satan," Thomas Putnam said. I watched him as he rose from the mud. "We only wanted justice." Beside him, Ann picked herself up.

"I wanted justice for the souls of my children," she piped.

"Justice?" I laughed. "You, Ann, only wanted revenge on Rebecca Nurse for judging you everyday of your life! Besides, it would be impossible to get justice. Your children died of natural causes."

"How are you so sure?" Thomas inquired.

"I have spoken with the midwives who tended your wife. They assure me your children's deaths were of natural causes."

"So be it," he resigned. The Putmans, I knew, would cause no further harm.

My display of witchcraft had come too late. All of those condemned were already dead. I could not save them.

I will never forget my time in Salem. Shortly after leaving the village and returning to Beverly, I heard some rather distressing news. What had happened in Salem paled in comparison to Europe. Millions of men and women were being burned or hanged each week. Nobody but royalty and bishops were safe. Yet, truly, no one is ever safe from hysteria.

In 1700 A.D., Reverend Hale died and I left Beverly for Richmond, Virginia. But that, my friends, is a tale for another time.


End file.
